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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140452">handmade for somebody like me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiskisa/pseuds/magicsoul'>magicsoul (cherishiskisa)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ATEEZ (Band), Big Bang (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Los Angeles, Alternate Universe - Porn, Hero Worship, Identity Theft But Make It Deeply Erotic, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Mullet On Mullet Action, Oral Sex, Selfcest Themes But No Actual Selfcest, Wish Fulfillment, normally i would anonpost this but i've clearly lost my mind so here we are, set in my wife's changki au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:02:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiskisa/pseuds/magicsoul</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know,” Jiyong says, “you remind me a lot of myself, when I was your age.”</p><p>Hongjoong goes very, very still. It looks as though he’s barely breathing. “How much?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon/Kim Hongjoong, implied minjoong if you squint with every fiber of your being</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>handmade for somebody like me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821342">Off to the Races</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/moblit/pseuds/moblit">moblit</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i apologize in advance.</p><p>it's not like this WON'T make sense if you haven't read the absolutely spectacular and brilliant off to the races by moblit (linked above), it just might make MORE sense - but if you haven't, all you really need to know is that jiyong is the founder/owner of a porn studio in LA but he travels a lot, so while he's away, hongjoong is the tyrant in charge! </p><p>PLEASE HEED THE TAGS. THIS GETS KINDA WEIRD. also, just as in Real Life, jiyong is 10 years older than hongjoong but they're 27 and 37 nskjdbfj so everything is fine! it's fine! everyone involved is having a great time!!!! and another small disclaimer that hongjoong acts very different, sexually, in this than he does in my other hongjoong-centric fics, but jiyong is very much an exception, not the rule!!!! title from shape of you by ed sh**ran. sorry to everyone who reads this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Jiyong says.</p><p class="p1">Hongjoong preens visibly and tucks a stray strand of his mullet behind one heavily pierced ear. “Thank you,” he purrs. “I made sure the carpet matches the drapes.”</p><p class="p1">It’s all Jiyong can do to keep from rolling his eyes, but it’s true, the interior decor has only improved in his absence. In fact, much has changed, much that wasn’t even bad before. The kid has an eye for it, he can admit — Jiyong prided himself, once, on his taste, on his ability to pull a room together, but there’s just <em>something </em>Hongjoong has done to the porn studio that makes it look even more like the surreal queer fantasy dreamland/erotic nightmare universe that Jiyong always envisioned it as being. He can’t put his finger on it. It just looks better. Like what Jiyong would have done had he stayed with the studio rather than passed it into younger, more enthusiastic hands and gone on a full circumnavigation of the globe, except <em>better</em>. It’s remarkable, what Hongjoong has managed in just a year, since the last time Jiyong was in Los Angeles and dropped by to see how things were going. He’d half-expected the place to be burned to the ground, given the general unpredictability of both the talent and Hongjoong himself. But no, Big Dragon Studios is clearly thriving, and Jiyong does his best not to feel left behind. “I can see that,” he replies. “I hope you didn’t throw out the original curtains. They were a Spanish tapestry from the 1600s.”</p><p class="p1">“No, they’re— I took the liberty of— they’re safe,” Hongjoong says, suddenly and uncharacteristically bashful. “I promise.”</p><p class="p1">Jiyong feels far more in control and raises his eyebrows at him, continuing his self-guided tour through the building. “Any other major changes?” he asks. “I see we’ve added some new performers.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh yes, quite a few,” Hongjoong says, immediately broken out of his bashfulness, and practically skips after Jiyong. “I’d love to introduce you once they’re done with their shoot.”</p><p class="p1">Frankly, Jiyong trusts Hongjoong’s eye, and he’s seen the profiles on the website; that’s all he really needs. He looks away from the writhing bodies on-set, midway through some very passionate paranormal scene, and shrugs, wanting a cigarette, but he and Hongjoong do, unfortunately, need to talk business. “Maybe another time. How about we…?”</p><p class="p1">“Of course,” Hongjoong agrees immediately, and in the past, his adoration-verging-on-obsequiousness had been annoying, but frankly, Jiyong is going to be 40 in three years, and he’s finding it harder and harder to let annoyances take hold. So he just continues along the walkway between the sets, Hongjoong at his heels, until they reach Jiyong’s office, and Jiyong opens the door and goes in, bracing for a drastic redesign, but to his amazement, it’s completely unchanged. Pristine, untouched. A sealed tomb — but clean, no dust.</p><p class="p1">“Hm,” Jiyong says, pleasantly surprised, and continues into the office to take a seat at his desk, running his hands over the ornate wooden surface for just a moment, like greeting an old friend in a hug. Even the pens he’d left on his desk are still in place, as well as the framed photograph of the original Big Dragon Studios team, his scraps of quilting fabric, one of his seven ships in a bottle, and his favorite cattle prod. Aww. He glances up at Hongjoong, waiting for him to take a seat in the Gucci jacquard armchair, but Hongjoong looks a little strange, a little stiff, caught mid-motion like <em>he </em>was going to sit behind the desk, himself. Belatedly, Jiyong notices that the otherwise perfect surface of the desk is slightly scuffed in one place, like someone has been putting metal, or boots, up on it with some frequency. Jiyong tilts his head, and sure enough, Hongjoong’s boots have spurs, and Hongjoong sees him looking and seems to shiver like a bird adjusting its feathers.</p><p class="p1">“Um,” Hongjoong says and sits in the armchair instead. That expression on his face and body is gone in seconds, smoothed through. “First, can I just say, it’s <em>so</em> wonderful to have you back. Are you staying long?”</p><p class="p1">“Probably not. I’m expected back in London at the end of the month,” Jiyong says. And Zurich, and Istanbul, and Yakutsk, but he wants to go to London first, so that’s where he’ll go first. “Things have been running smoothly here?”</p><p class="p1">“Like butter,” Hongjoong assures him with a slightly breathy tone that’s uncomfortably reminiscent of— something. Is it Wonho? Not quite. He then goes on to give Jiyong a rundown of Big Dragon’s operations for the past year and even breaks out a folder with some statistics on viewership, subscription, and earnings. Jiyong doesn’t really care — even if he’s losing money, he can certainly afford the drain as long as good content is being produced — but he lets Hongjoong explain it, then go into his elevator pitch of a new subscription model: occasional pay-per-view along with a more traditional subscription. “It would be bonus content on top of the actual porn clips themselves,” Hongjoong explains. “Slice-of-life. So our viewers can get to know the personalities behind the O-faces, you know? But it would be optional, just because that is kind of niche, and even though the Fuck Scouts tried something similar, it wasn’t successful, but we can learn from their failures and rise from their ashes, you know?”</p><p class="p1">He goes silent but remains eager, watching Jiyong with his calculating, glittering eyes, and Jiyong leans back slightly in his chair. “Sure,” he says after a moment. “That sounds fine. What do you need me to sign off on?”</p><p class="p1">“This, and this,” Hongjoong says without a second of delay, stretching, extending, to hand the folder to Jiyong, and Jiyong uncaps one of his fountain pens and signs. Jiyong is reminded, momentarily, of the six-month stint at the start of Hongjoong’s tenure at Big Dragon when he’d been Jiyong’s personal assistant. As he signs (his signature is long, elaborate, and takes some time), he glances at the framed photograph of the old guard — himself, Taemin, Jongin, Minseok, Chanyeol, Sehun, Wonho (about a third of his current size, Jesus), Yixing, and a nearly unrecognizable Hongjoong, dark-haired and nervous and all but hidden behind Jiyong’s shoulder with his clipboard. The picture inspires fondness, but it’s bittersweet; of the founding members, only three remain, if Jiyong even counts. The rest had all either retired young (Minseok), found a more lucrative position in the arms of a Silicon Valley billionaire (Sehun), decided to be straight after all (Chanyeol), run off to get married in Florence (Taemin and Jongin), or become an actual Chippendale (Yixing). But he’s quite fond of the second generation of recruits, the twins and Jaehyun and Kihyun and that obscenely pretty fae Jeonghan, and he has no idea who any of the ones from the third cohort are but they seem inoffensive, too. He — and Hongjoong, he has to admit, the studio wouldn’t be the same without Hongjoong’s iron rule while Jiyong is <em>in absentia </em>— did well. There’s much to be proud of.</p><p class="p1">Jiyong finishes his signature and returns the folder to Hongjoong. “And how’s everyone doing, generally? Are they happy? Any resignations or attempts?”</p><p class="p1">“None whatsoever,” Hongjoong says, all but bursting with pride. “We nearly lost Kihyun, but he’s fine now, ugh. I’ve been meaning to ask you, what do you think of the <em>creative </em>direction I’ve been moving us in?”</p><p class="p1">“How do you mean?”</p><p class="p1">“I mean I’m not just hiring twinks,” Hongjoong explains. He has a startling amount of teeth when he smiles like that. “If you don’t like the new boys, they can go, but the viewers enjoy seeing all that meat, and God knows we’re all having fun on our end.”</p><p class="p1">Oh, yes. Jiyong has noticed that the new recruits do skew taller and broader than before, and he’d wondered what led to the change. Hongjoong doesn’t film often, but if he does, it’s always with the same boy. It’s none of Jiyong’s business, anyway, and he really, really doesn’t care that much. “It’s fine,” he shrugs. “They’re… cute. Not really my type, but it’s not like Chanyeol was tiny, either.”</p><p class="p1">Hongjoong stifles a different kind of smile and his earrings glitter when he leans forward in his chair. “Speaking of Chanyeol, what if we do a 5-year anniversary special,” he says, “see who we can get to come back for just one video. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”</p><p class="p1">Not really, actually. This is why Jiyong doesn’t like to visit too often — Hongjoong is enthusiastic, he shares Jiyong’s vision to a fault, but his enthusiasm can be stifling, suffocating, and Jiyong finds it difficult to keep up with him. “Hm. There’s an idea,” he says neutrally.</p><p class="p1">“You hate it,” Hongjoong sighs, but even though he sounds crestfallen, he doesn’t look it. Always calculating, that one. Always five steps ahead. “See, this is why we need you to come more often, <em>you’re </em>the creative genius and mastermind here, who else can spin ideas like you? I do my best, of course, but you’re just— well, you’re just a genius.” He rests his angular chin in his hand, gazing at Jiyong, and Jiyong exhales a quiet laugh and looks away, momentarily unsettled as he sometimes is when Hongjoong gets too effusive about Jiyong’s purported brilliance.</p><p class="p1">“It’s nothing like that. It would just be hard to get everyone back in one place,” he says. Hongjoong nods, in complete agreement, and when a strand of hair falls into his eyes, Jiyong realizes something: when they FaceTimed last week, Jiyong needing to approve an upgrade to furniture in studio C, Hongjoong’s hair wasn’t that color. It had been a frosty bottle-blond. But now it’s the same dark ash as Jiyong’s, down to the way it catches the light.</p><p class="p1">It’s sufficiently startling that it steals any hypothetical words right out of Jiyong’s mouth, leaving him frowning as he doubts his memory — maybe it wasn’t <em>white</em>-blond, maybe it had been closer to honey, or maybe this is just a transitional phase before he goes back to his natural color? — and his perception, and of course that’s when Hongjoong, smelling weakness like a shark with blood in the water, goes in for the kill: “Also, I was wondering if— I mean, I was thinking that,” he says, correcting himself expertly, so expertly that it’s like he was never flustered in the first place, “it’s time for us to legitimize my position here.”</p><p class="p1">“Legitimize,” Jiyong repeats.</p><p class="p1">“I’ve been with you for years now,” Hongjoong explains, “and when you’re away, I do your job. Of course I can’t do the job <em>you </em>would do, but I do my own version of it, and— ask anyone— I do it well. But my official title is still <em>producer. </em>Can we agree on an amendment? Producer, <em>and? </em>Certainly not creative director, there’s only one of <em>you, </em>but… director <em>pro tempore? </em>Adjunct creative director? Something along those lines.”</p><p class="p1">Jiyong just looks at him. No, his hair hadn’t been that color — he’d dyed it to match Jiyong, once he’d seen him. Of this, Jiyong is one hundred percent sure. The piercings in Hongjoong’s ears line up as mirror reflections of Jiyong’s — his tattoos are in the same style. Hongjoong has always been more disciple than protégé, so Jiyong doesn’t find it surprising, but then he realizes that that’s what that breathier voice had been, too, a natural, seamless integration of Jiyong’s manner of speaking, and his frown deepens while Hongjoong, in contrast, mirrored and flipped, begins to smile wider.</p><p class="p1">“And I’d like my name to be on the door of this office,” Hongjoong adds, all rushed, a childish flush in his cheeks, and it’s so ludicrous that it makes Jiyong laugh, releasing the bracelet he’d been fiddling with and placing his hands palm-down on the tabletop.</p><p class="p1">“No, Hongjoong,” he says tiredly. “The title, sure. But this is my office.”</p><p class="p1">“But—”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want to argue today,” Jiyong says. Hongjoong goes silent instantly, kittenish lips snapped shut, but Jiyong knows there are a lion’s fangs behind that little moue. It takes Jiyong a moment to gather the words he needs, and he can’t believe he has to say any of this at all, but lines need to be drawn. Finally. So long overdue. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for the studio,” he says, leaning back again and, intentionally, propping his feet up on the desk the way he hasn’t done in years, but evidently the way Hongjoong does daily. “Yes, it’s all my original idea, but you’ve… revitalized it. I very much enjoy your creative voice and energy. But sometimes I can’t help but feel that you’re holding yourself back, in a lot of ways, by attaching yourself to a certain aesthetic, and a certain set of principles, and that’s a shame. You need to be <em>yourself, </em>Hongjoong. What do <em>you </em>want to be working on? What’s the art that <em>you</em> want to create? I saw your video at your family’s château — it was beautiful, it felt very different. More of that, please. And you can do that without having your name on <em>my</em> office door.”</p><p class="p1">Hongjoong is increasingly taking on the expression of a chastised child, but there’s still stubborn heat in his eyes, underneath his eyelashes. “I know,” he tries, softly, “I know, but—”</p><p class="p1">It’s so unsettlingly similar to a conversation Jiyong had had years ago with his PhD advisor that he can’t help a small, dry laugh. He hadn’t given up then, either, and had pushed and pushed until he’d gotten his way, determined that his raw talent would see him through. It seems Hongjoong is the same, but Jiyong is just too annoyed with all this mimicry to entertain him. Still, it brings up a flicker of an old fondness, for a younger Hongjoong (not that Hongjoong is old, and Jiyong abruptly remembers the <em>decade </em>of age between them and feels acutely bad), and he relents. “You know,” he says, “you remind me a lot of myself, when I was your age.”</p><p class="p1">Hongjoong goes very, very still. It looks as though he’s barely breathing. “How much?”</p><p class="p1">“What?” Jiyong says, blinking. “A lot. I don’t know. What do you mean, <em>how much?”</em></p><p class="p1">Now Hongjoong is breathing again. Jiyong can see the flutter of his chest, and his lips are parted. His eyes are dark. He looks — Jiyong knows that look. Not from himself, but from the scant handful of videos Hongjoong has up on the Big Dragon website. “I mean,” Hongjoong murmurs, beginning to rise out of his chair, and Jiyong can see the tremble of his hands, “how do I remind you of yourself?”</p><p class="p1">“Visually,” Jiyong says, “obviously.”</p><p class="p1">“Obviously,” Hongjoong agrees. He’s moving slow, catlike, but Jiyong doesn’t move beyond taking his feet off the desk, just lets him approach. The expression on Hongjoong’s face is growing unreadable with hunger. “In what way?”</p><p class="p1">“Your hair is like mine,” Jiyong says, and touches his own hair, the longer edges behind his ears. Hongjoong echoes him in touch, mirrored on his own body, and something unfamiliar begins to settle behind Jiyong’s sternum. “Your earrings. Your posture. Your clothes.”</p><p class="p1">“What about the way I act?” Hongjoong prompts.</p><p class="p1">He’s getting close. It’s a big office, and he’s been walking slow, but he’s getting very close, and Jiyong just keeps watching him with detached bemusement, wondering where this ends. Is Hongjoong going to kill him and steal his identity? “That, too. Your voice, sometimes. You do certain things with your hands that I recognize from myself. Mannerisms,” he answers anyway, not even sure why he’s bothering to play this little game. Hongjoong is nearly in front of him now, flushed with some kind of excitement, and all Jiyong can do is wait until he reaches his conclusion. “Are you doing it on purpose?”</p><p class="p1">“Kind of,” Hongjoong murmurs. He slips into Jiyong’s lap, and Jiyong doesn’t stop him. “Is it so wrong to want to be you when I grow up?”</p><p class="p1">Somehow, for some twisted fucking reason, that makes Jiyong start getting hot under the collar. He can feel warmth creeping up the back of his neck as Hongjoong gets settled, his diminutive hands curling straight away in the fabric at Jiyong’s shoulders like he can barely help himself. They’ve never really touched before. Or if they have, it certainly hasn’t been like this. “No, I guess not,” Jiyong says through an exhaled half-laugh. “What are you doing?”</p><p class="p1">“What are <em>you </em>doing?” Hongjoong counters. He’s leaning in, now, to nuzzle that avian nose against Jiyong’s jaw. To breathe him. Not like a lover — like a wild animal scenting for its prey. But Jiyong won’t be prey, and certainly not to Hongjoong, so he touches Hongjoong in return, a hand sliding up the cat’s arch of his back to grasp a fistful of his hair and pull him, gently, back. Hongjoong relinquishes control immediately, bending back, and looks at him across the uncanny valley of his eyes. “Come on, boss,” he breathes. “Relive your youth.”</p><p class="p1">Jiyong isn’t even that old. Hongjoong, honestly, isn’t even that young. Jiyong thinks he knows what he means, though, and relaxes his grip on his hair to curl his fingers around the back of his skull. Hongjoong really does look like him, like this. Jiyong has noticed it a thousand times. He just didn’t know how far it really went. “Is that the sort of person you think I am?” he asks. “I’m not a narcissist. Not that vain or self-centered. Are you?”</p><p class="p1">“I would be, if I were you,” Hongjoong answers right away, unexpectedly fervent, and squirms in Jiyong’s lap. For the first time, Jiyong notices that Hongjoong is stiff in his frayed corduroy-and-denim work trousers. He turns his head down to check, and Hongjoong is unashamed, leaning in to try and steal a kiss, but Jiyong turns away with another huff of a laugh. That makes Hongjoong huff in frustration, squeezing Jiyong’s shoulders. “Hey. Tell me. Have you ever watched my videos? I mean, the ones of me?”</p><p class="p1">He’s smart. Jiyong has taught him well. Hongjoong is using the tools Jiyong gave him to pull Jiyong right into his net. “I have,” he says, as neutrally as he can, and Hongjoong’s grin goes wolf-sharp.</p><p class="p1">“And what did you think?”</p><p class="p1">“It was like—” Jiyong swallows. His other hand, the one not in Hongjoong’s hair, moves to his brittle hip. “It was like watching myself.”</p><p class="p1">It’s the answer Hongjoong wanted, but it’s also the truth. Jiyong had been uncomfortable, yes, but— but not enough to stop watching. It was surreal to see essentially his clone, his double, on his knees or bending leggy models over furniture. Jiyong’s main thought was, in the end, <em>I wish </em>I’d<em> been that good with </em>my<em> mouth when I was 27. </em></p><p class="p1">Relive your youth, Hongjoong said. Hongjoong has gone pink, trembling, and breathless in his lap, restless, so far from the confident and loud-mouthed top he comes across as in the clips and in real life, and Jiyong thinks that if this <em>really </em>were himself, ten years younger and so ambitious he would rather fall to his death off the fourth rung of the tallest ladder than climb to the top of a shorter one, sitting in his own lap, he would—</p><p class="p1">“Please,” Hongjoong whines, so softly, and Jiyong pulls him down to kiss him.</p><p class="p1">Hongjoong melts. Jiyong wouldn’t have melted. But Hongjoong can’t help himself, and he’s not even kissing Jiyong back, too helpless as Jiyong kisses him, the fast and toothsome way he likes to kiss. But that lasts only for a second. Hongjoong, like a mimic species, learns quick on his feet and is kissing Jiyong in the exact same way almost immediately, his bearings found, his tongue licking lightning-quick at Jiyong’s. The delay between their movements is infinitesimal, so small it may not even exist. Hongjoong rocks his hips down on Jiyong’s lap and Jiyong slips his hand up Hongjoong’s pirate blouse and makes Hongjoong shudder a noise against his mouth. Even Hongjoong’s outfit today is a remix of Jiyong’s — corduroy and denim on the bottom, silk on the top, where Jiyong is wearing the reverse. He’s been so thorough, so thoughtful. He’s planned for everything. Jiyong kisses him more intently, but this isn’t about what Jiyong wants, not really, they both know that, and Hongjoong’s just going to do whatever he wants anyway. To get it out of his system, hopefully. Hongjoong kisses him and kisses him, more actively, sucks at Jiyong’s lip and musses up the back of Jiyong’s hair, and one final squirm later sends him slipping intentionally out of Jiyong’s lap and, predictably, onto the floor. Onto his knees.</p><p class="p1">“Let me,” Hongjoong murmurs, pressing his face into the edge of Jiyong’s thigh. “Let me, let me.”</p><p class="p1">“Not stopping you,” Jiyong says, shamefully out of breath himself, and Hongjoong moans, his hands shaking so badly by now that he can barely unlace the closure on Jiyong’s palazzo pants. So Jiyong helps him, because the laces do go on for some time, but as soon as the final eyelet is free, Hongjoong bats Jiyong’s hands away — still reverently, in a way — and dives in to do what he, evidently, thinks he does best.</p><p class="p1">And he’s not wrong. Jiyong inhales sharply as Hongjoong sucks him down his throat, taking him from semi to achingly hard in less time than Jiyong knew was possible anymore, and if it were Jiyong sucking dick, he’d want a hand in his hair, so he puts one in Hongjoong’s. Hongjoong understands, a little moan escaping when he gets the chance to breathe, but otherwise he’s focused like with blinders on, like all he knows is pleasuring Jiyong. Jiyong has watched enough of his videos, few though they are, to know that Hongjoong likes using more teeth than is strictly traditional during blowjobs, but since it’s Jiyong on the receiving end, since Hongjoong is playacting at being his own idol, he keeps the teeth restrained. His mouth is eager, adoring, this is more attention than Jiyong has gotten in a long, long time. Hongjoong is sucking his cock like he thinks he’s running out of time, almost like he thinks Jiyong is going to kick him away if he doesn’t hurry up, and Jiyong sighs out and leans his head back, leaning momentarily into the pleasure he feels in his body.</p><p class="p1">Hongjoong is good at what he’s doing. Jiyong figures he should check on him just to confirm the poor thing isn’t forgetting to breathe in the rush and excitement of all this, but hasn’t he learned by now never to underestimate him? Hongjoong is fine, if flushed a deep pink, and he looks up at Jiyong with a heavy-lidded sultriness that looks natural on his Jiyongesque features. His lips are stretched and wet, and he keeps his large mouth so tight, improbably. Jiyong rests his head against the chair back at such an angle that he can still watch him, since that’s what Hongjoong evidently needs — to be seen. The resemblance really is striking. It nearly makes Jiyong uncomfortable, but Hongjoong is too skilled with his mouth for the discomfort to last.</p><p class="p1">Experimentally, Jiyong lifts his hips so he can push his dick deeper into Hongjoong’s mouth. He knows Hongjoong can take it; he’s seen the caliber of cock Hongjoong prefers to work with on-set. But even though Hongjoong can take it, this red-cheeked eager ingenue act he’s pulling — does he think this is what Jiyong was like ten years ago? — means he chokes, but not enough to stop himself, just barely enough to make him splutter and then rub his hands over Jiyong’s thighs by way of apology. It makes him redouble his efforts, hungrier than before, sucking him so tight and messy all at once that it’s like he’s racing himself. Like he’s proving a point. Or, still, like he’s scared that Jiyong will change his mind, which is surprisingly sweet. Jiyong breathes out an endeared hum and rests his hand in Hongjoong’s hair again, thumbing underneath his ear.</p><p class="p1">Well, Jiyong supposes, this is likely to have a better outcome than more traditional identity theft. “That’s good,” he tells Hongjoong in strained, low tones, and Hongjoong, who clearly wants absolutely nothing more than to be praised by the person he wishes to become, moans around his cock. Hongjoong’s eagerness keeps outdoing his finesse, lust over pride, but at this point it’s gluttonous, the way he’s deep-throating Jiyong without giving himself even half a second to breathe. Like a succubus, getting Jiyong so close so fast. Should Jiyong be worried that Hongjoong is sucking out his life force? Hongjoong circles his fingers around the root of Jiyong’s dick, pulls off, and pleads with his eyes, pressing the head against his lower lip with his big mouth wide open, and Jiyong is tired of resisting progress — Hongjoong was always, always going to get what he wants.</p><p class="p1">So Jiyong comes across his tongue, then pulls Hongjoong back by the hair to get some on the rest of his face, too. Hongjoong takes it, breathing so hard his chest heaves, his eyelids struggling to stay up so he can watch, watch Jiyong’s expression. “There,” Jiyong says. “Now you really do look like me.”</p><p class="p1">Hongjoong’s dark-flared eyes slide over to the large framed print on the wall behind Jiyong’s back — Big Dragon Studios’ original logo, an intentionally pixelated-beyond-recognition close-up of a twenty-five-year-old Jiyong’s mouth, streaked with pearly white. It’s an iconic image; it even got its very own article on Slate. Hongjoong falls back onto his heels, shaking, one hand coming up to touch his mouth with faltering fingers, looking thoroughly debauched but also like he can’t believe his luck. He can’t look away from Jiyong, but his eyes are glazed, like he’s seeing himself reflected in a Kusama infinity mirror.</p><p class="p1">Jiyong raises his eyebrows at him and tucks himself away, beginning to lace his pants back up, and in the meantime, Hongjoong wipes his lower face with the back of his hand, then licks the come off his own skin like he’s a cat. Jiyong politely ignores this. Is that it? Is Hongjoong done? Had he gotten his fill? He looks at Hongjoong again, and sees that he’s still wanting, still kneeling on the floor and blushing like the virgin bride that he most decidedly is not. “Please,” Hongjoong whispers again, and now Jiyong sees that he was naïve for thinking Hongjoong would be that easy to satisfy.</p><p class="p1">He permits him up with a nod of his head, and Hongjoong scrambles up immediately, not going far: he sits on the ornate surface of Jiyong’s desk and spreads his legs so he can put his hand between them. He seems content at first to just rub himself off, undoing the flower-shaped button on his trousers and sliding his hand inside, but there’s still something plaintive in the way he glances at Jiyong, so Jiyong moves in closer, unable to shake the feeling that he’s looking at himself, and replaces Hongjoong’s hand with his own.</p><p class="p1">Hongjoong can’t keep up the act anymore. He gasps, arches back with his hands now braced on the wooden desktop behind himself, and lets Jiyong take over. “Wanted— for so—” he tries to say, his cock achingly hard in Jiyong’s disinterested hold. “Wanted it so <em>bad</em>— always, always wanted this—”</p><p class="p1">“Well, you got it,” Jiyong says, and Hongjoong laugh-moans, rolling his hips up to chase Jiyong’s touch. His eyes are open now, but he’s not looking at Jiyong — he’s looking around at the office, like he’s saying goodbye. Good. Hopefully this is getting lots of things out of his system. He’s pleasantly responsive, Jiyong has always liked that about him, he’s very straightforward with his emotions, wearing them all on his embroidered sleeves, and he’s certainly <em>very </em>open about how he’s feeling now, moaning more loudly and not bothering to bite his lip.</p><p class="p1">Then, enjoying himself, his head falls to the side and his eyes are closed, and his profile — the shape of him — is <em>surreally </em>similar to Jiyong. Jiyong is a little bit transfixed. Relive your youth, indeed. He’d been cute back then. Hongjoong is cute now. Experimentally, Jiyong presses the edge of one finger into the slit at the tip of Hongjoong’s dick, the way Jiyong likes to do himself sometimes, and Hongjoong jolts, nearly squeaks with pleasure, and his earrings catch the light and that’s Jiyong, it’s a reflection through a mirror that shows the past, and even though Jiyong has pretty much checked out of this encounter, he still can’t look away. “Come on,” Jiyong says, quietly, “c’mon, <em>Jiyong.”</em></p><p class="p1">Hongjoong comes immediately. His arms nearly buckle under him, but he manages to stay upright, trembling powerfully, and even though a little bit of come drips onto the surface of the desk, it’s not like it’s the first time. Jiyong specifically picked out impermeable varnish; it’ll be just fine. He releases Hongjoong’s dick and, similarly politely, if tired this time, holds out a tissue box to him. Hongjoong looks less like Jiyong, now that he’s finished.</p><p class="p1">“Thank you,” Hongjoong says, plucking a tissue out of the box and wiping himself clean. He re-buttons his trousers, hops down off the desk, and dusts his shirt off needlessly. It’s a testament to how business-minded they both are that this, somehow, isn’t weird in the slightest; Jiyong agrees with what Hongjoong is leaving unspoken, that this was only a matter of time. Obviously Hongjoong in all his shamelessness would pounce on Jiyong eventually, and obviously Jiyong, always down to try something new, even as he gets older, wouldn’t resist. Hongjoong smiles at Jiyong with a few of his signature teeth on display, dawdling by the side of the desk, almost like he’s waiting for Jiyong to invite him back into his lap for some petting and purring, but even over the obvious dopamine trickling through Jiyong’s system, he’d rather Hongjoong get out of his hair right now. There’ll be time for more effusive praise once Hongjoong actually does something worth praising.</p><p class="p1">Still, Jiyong says, “You’re welcome. You can be Acting Creative Director, and give yourself a raise of six percent.”</p><p class="p1">“Deal,” Hongjoong says, beaming brighter with every second.</p><p class="p1">Jiyong eyes him. Hongjoong looks altogether too pleased with himself, but Jiyong can’t bring himself to knock him down a few pegs. The kid deserves what he’s gotten, it’s true. “Now get out of my office.”</p><p class="p1">“<em>Our </em>office,” Hongjoong hums, and scampers out before Jiyong can tell him otherwise.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://twitter.com/paratazxis">twitter</a> / <a href="https://curiouscat.me/paratazxis">curiouscat</a></p><p>literally please forgive me for my crimes ://// this is 2/3 of my ults and writing this was Strange for me for that reason but i still had a lot of fun haha please let me know what u thot by leaving a comment or coming to chat at the links above!!!! as we can see i've been broken out of my creativity block so who knows what terror i'll unmleash on the world next &gt;:3 stay groovy out there yall!!! tysm for reading!!!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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